Rainy Season Predators or Puddle Jumpers
by ficscribbler
Summary: Predators with an unusual goal stalk the men.


**Rainy Season Predators**

**(or) Puddle Jumpers**

Summary: Predators with an unusual goal stalk the men.

Disclaimer: _The Lost World_ does not belong to me. *_Regretful sigh_* All rights belong to the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and / or Coote/Hayes, The Over the Hill Gang, New Line Television, et al, …

Author's Note: This story is set in the first half of the first season.

xxxxx

Ned had barely re-seated himself at the table near the balcony, a cup of coffee now at his elbow, his broad shoulders once again hunched over his journal, brow furrowing in concentration as he sought an elusive phrase, when a beam of sunlight fell across the page. He looked up, startled, and his clear blue eyes widened at what he saw.

There, in the stormy gray sky, was a glimmer of blue peaking out between the heavy clouds that had obscured the sun for the past three weeks. The young American let out a shout of joyous delight: "The sun! I can see the sun!"

There was a clatter from the great room as various objects were abruptly cast aside. Even Lord John Roxton abandoned caution; he unceremoniously dropped the rifle parts he'd been cleaning and pushed his chair back so forcefully that it crashed to the floor as he bounded away from the table with a bright gleam in his dark green eyes. "Sun? Where?" he demanded impatiently, already craning his neck as he dashed after the slim brunette whose novel now lay askew on the floor where it had landed as it tumbled from her lap when she leapt off the bench and hurried toward the balcony. Marguerite skidded to an undignified stop behind Ned in the narrow opening to the balcony, and the hunter barely kept himself from plowing into her. He tried not to crowd her as he leaned over her shoulder, determined to get a glimpse of the longed-for sunlight. Both pair of hopeful eyes followed the direction of the young American's pointing finger. "Ah," the hunter sighed in satisfaction as he, too, beheld the first glimpse of the sun to be had during these past waterlogged weeks. "Maybe it's a good omen," he declared optimistically.

But Marguerite's lip curled and she snorted in disdain. She turned back toward the great room, elbowing Roxton to move him out of her way. "With all those clouds still in the sky? Not bloody likely!" she chided, giving the handsome lord a skeptical look over her shoulder as she stalked away from both men. She refused to be impressed with the tantalizing sight of the sun in the minuscule glimpse of blue sky between the masses of dark clouds that darkened the horizon in every direction.

She regretted her impulsive response to Ned's gleeful cry; she'd adopted a consistent attitude of ennui since their introduction to the Plateau's rainy season, and didn't want any of the others to realize she was just as restless and anxious as everyone else for a reprieve from the lengthening limitations on their movement. But as much as she longed for fair skies to free them from the tree house, that tiny cloud-free opening was far too small to promise any impending change in the weather. She mentally cursed the over-eager journalist for falsely raising everyone's hopes. The men would be intensely disappointed, which would only increase the testosterone-thick tensions already rife in their small arboreal home. Not that she had any intention of letting the others know it, but even she felt ready to burst if she didn't have some kind of release soon. It required all of her considerable skills to maintain a façade of indifference about the group's forced inactivity.

Her progress back to the bench and her discarded book was delayed by the need for a quick sidestep to avoid collision with the sparkling-eyed snowy-haired man hurrying out from the kitchen. One of Marguerite's fine dark brows arched at this unusual lack of manners from the eldest member of the Challenger Expedition. Summerlee was bound to be terribly disheartened at what awaited him. In an effort to soften the blow, she briskly forewarned, "No need to rush, Arthur; it's nothing worth getting excited about."

Arthur Summerlee gave her a beneficent smile and continued onto the balcony to join the younger men now leaning over the railing to study the sky. He was accustomed to Marguerite's caustic ways and preferred to judge for himself, although he braced himself for a possible let down just in case she was right. "Where is it, Malone?" he asked as he, too, raised his face to survey the conditions overhead.

"There, see? A gap in the clouds," Malone grinned cheerfully, refusing to allow his spirits to be dampened by anything _she_ might say.

Roxton clapped the younger man on the shoulder, grinning just as widely. "It may not mean much of a break in the rain, gentlemen, but we just might get a little hunting in!" he predicted with evident anticipation.

An audible snicker emanated from around the corner where Marguerite had resumed her seat and her reading; all three men ignored it. The eldest raised one brow as he considered Roxton's proposed outing and contemplated the bit of azure expanse visible through the banks of heavy clouds that still covered the majority of the plateau. "It would have to be a very fast jaunt, Lord Roxton. I'm afraid that rather small bit of open sky won't give us much relief from the rain."

"What's all the fuss about?" Challenger asked as he came up the steps from his lab and crossed the main room toward the other three men. "Did someone mention sunshine?"

"Only in their dreams, Challenger," Marguerite drawled sardonically. She glanced toward the elevator as she heard the mechanism begin to rise, and wondered what their hostess would have to say about Ned's splash of sunshine.

"Ignore _her_, Professor; there's some clear sky today," Ned explained with a gesture toward the patch of bright blue and the glimpse of the sun at its corner. "Roxton thinks we might fit in some hunting."

"Hmm … that sounds like a good idea," nodded the redheaded scientist as he mentally reviewed the weather data he'd been accumulating - wind speeds, temperature changes, cloud formations and associated amounts of rainfall, quite fascinating, really - and calculated the dimensions of the cloud-free area. "I suppose we could manage a brief hunt before it begins to rain again. I won't deny that the prospect of getting out of the tree house, however briefly, has its appeal."

"It certainly does," Summerlee agreed heartily. "The rain here puts our London weather quite to shame. Shall we prepare to hunt, then?"

"Hunt?" Veronica repeated, catching the last phrase as she stepped off the elevator with an armful of vegetables from her garden. "It's too wet to hunt. Everything is dripping and you'd be soaked in minutes if you tried to make your way through the jungle right now."

She could understand their desire to get outdoors after the claustrophobia-inducing time indoors, but knew it was in the best interests of her guests to repeat what she'd told them before the annual storms began. "The larger predators seem especially aggressive during the few dry times until rainy season is over, which means you have to be extra cautious. Hunting at this time of year is a miserable, dangerous, time-consuming process. You don't want to do it unless there's no choice. And we don't need any meat right now; we still have plenty on hand from that brontosaur Roxton took down right before the first storm hit." She crossed to the kitchen as she spoke and laid the freshly-dug vegetables on the counter. "Besides," she pointed out, ruefully scratching at a few of the dozen new red marks on her arms, "the mosquitoes are pretty thick at ground level during rainy season."

Roxton came in off the balcony, followed by the other three men. "But Veronica, you said the rainy season could last six weeks or more, so shouldn't we take advantage of this interlude to lay in a little extra meat, just in case? It's always good to be prepared for the worst."

Veronica grinned at this transparent excuse to get out of the tree house. She was well aware that her guests were feeling stifled within the walls of the lofty structure, which had never seemed spacious enough during rainy season even when she'd lived alone. The five newcomers were feeling quite antsy after the heavy storms that had kept them housebound these past twenty-three days. But she had to be honest. "I really don't think you'll be able to find anything worth -" she hesitated as she noticed that even Arthur Summerlee's face fell. _Goodness, it's worse than I'd realized!_ _If even dear, contented Summerlee is restless, they really do need an outing, regardless of the discomforts involved._ "Well," she admitted slowly, "I suppose getting a bit of exercise couldn't hurt." She was rewarded with four bright, relieved smiles from the men, and a glimmer of interest from the enigmatic Marguerite.

"I'll get the packs together," Ned volunteered promptly.

"Perhaps a quick snack to eat on the trail," Summerlee murmured, moving past Veronica into the kitchen. "Some fruit and nuts would be sufficient, I believe."

"I'll handle the canteens," Challenger was already gathering the containers from the shelf.

Roxton, of course, started readying the weapons, a gleeful gleam in his dark green eyes as he quickly reassembled the rifle he'd been cleaning before Ned had seen the sign of temporarily clearing weather.

Veronica looked over at Marguerite, who was ignoring the others. _Is she only pretending to continue her reading, or does she really not care? _ It was possible, although that ran contrary to what she'd briefly glimpsed in the brunette's expression. Naturally, after the older woman's apparent indifference to their limited boundaries she wouldn't admit to her own desire to escape to the outdoors. _It would serve her right if we left her behind – in fact_, the younger woman admitted candidly to herself, _I'd much rather leave Marguerite here._

However, ever since Marguerite had nearly sold her to Jacoba the wary young blonde had kept a discreet eye on her most unprincipled guest; it hadn't taken long to realize that a restless or bored Marguerite usually meant trouble for one or more of the other explorers. _Even though she's been remarkably even-tempered so far – well, even-tempered for Marguerite, at any rate –there's still a long time before rainy season ends. For the good of the group, it'll be best to give her a reason to come along on this outing._

Resigned to doing what was necessary, Veronica explained, "Although the apemen seem to have learned their lesson and have been avoiding the tree house when we're all here, there's no saying what they'd do if anyone stayed here alone. I didn't see any signs of them down below, but that's no guarantee that we're not being watched. There's too much danger of attack for one person to be left here." When the brunette showed no sign of taking the hint, she added bluntly, "That means you'll have to come too, Marguerite."

The group's financier heaved an impatient sigh. "Just what I need; a trek through a sopping wet jungle so I can get filthy and wet!" she grumbled, closing the book with marked reluctance. She glared balefully at the nearest of the men as she started to rise to her feet, keeping up her pretense that she wasn't every bit as ready as they were to get outdoors. "Men have no common sense at all."

Ned, setting the backpacks on the table, shuddered at a sudden mental image of the six of them hiking along under a constant barrage of the dark-haired beauty's whining about the mud, the moisture, and the bugs. Hitting on a semi-tactful way to avoid taking her along, he quickly addressed her. "If it's as bad out as Veronica thinks, the going will be too tough for a lady. We won't be gone long enough to make it worth the effort, Marguerite. I think since Veronica didn't see any sign of apemen, it'll be safe enough. You should stay here… Right, guys?"

Challenger and Summerlee exchanged looks of wry understanding at the youngest man's appeal, and nodded their assent to the convenient suggestion. Roxton, though, looked up with a frown. Knowing perfectly well that the hunter was consistently protective of the slim brunette, and that he was about to disagree with the notion that it was fine for her to be left behind at the tree house, Ned said brightly to the moody woman, "See? Majority agrees that a lady should stay home." He avoided Roxton's look of rebuke by ducking his head to work at loosening a tangled set of buckles on Summerlee's pack.

Marguerite, knowing full well what was prompting Ned's sudden bout of gentlemanly instinct, yielded to an impish impulse provoked by his self-serving reasoning. She arched one fine brow and asked sweetly, "Are you suggesting that Veronica should stay here, too, since she's also a lady? Or are you implying that she's not a lady, so it's perfectly fine for her to join you?"

The young man's head snapped up, and his eyes widened in dismay as he realized his words could indeed be taken as an insult to their hostess. _How does she always manage to twist everything I say? _ He opened his mouth, panicked eyes flickering from Marguerite to Veronica, but couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't get him into deeper trouble with one or both of the two women. He grimaced and glanced around at the older men, wondering how he was going to get out of this predicament.

Veronica smothered a grin. She didn't usually appreciate Marguerite's often-malicious baiting of the handsome young American, but Malone had certainly left himself wide open to it this time. She kept a straight face and prodded, "Yes, Ned, just exactly what are you implying?"

Roxton, grinning discreetly at the pickle Ned had placed himself in with his usual impulsiveness, flashed a quick look in Summerlee's direction. But with the wisdom garnered during decades of marriage, the older man was suddenly wholly absorbed in packing up their trail snack. Apparently he didn't want to get into the middle of this one. Challenger, of course, was unaware of Ned's silent appeal as he efficiently and methodically lined up their canteens in preparation for filling them. No help for the American there; no, if anything was going to be done, it was going to fall to the experienced ladies' man. Although he was amused by the situation, he couldn't help pitying the journalist. His keen gaze noted the deliberately sober expressions of the two women – dangerous, whenever two women ganged up on a fellow, particularly when momentary humor lurked beneath the surface but the subject was potentially explosive – then considered his possible tactics.

The best way to calm the threatening tempest was to redirect the spotlight away from both Veronica and the unwitting Ned. And who better to target than the wily instigator herself? "We won't be going far, and Malone's right that we won't be gone long, so Veronica doesn't need to go back out again today. That way Her Highness won't be alone and can stay here where she won't need to dirty her dainty hands." He smirked at Marguerite, daring her to try her claws on a tougher target.

Marguerite's eyes narrowed as she glared at him, as much for spoiling her fun with Ned as for joining in the attempt to exclude her from the excursion. But before she could do more than open her mouth to reply, George Challenger inadvertently added fuel to the fire by saying absently, "Yes, yes, let the women stay here where it's safe and dry." His bent his head over the water barrel, oblivious to the undercurrents as he filled the first of the canteens. "No need for the women to try to keep up. Hunting is a man's work."

Marguerite blinked, astounded at the black hole the scientist had just stepped into. She instantly decided to forgo blasting Roxton in favor of following the development of this new diversion, murmuring softly, "Oh, this should be good." She turned expectantly toward the jungle born and bred blonde. Given the fact that Veronica could leave even Lord John Roxton in the dust on a trail and had been providing for herself for eleven long years without a man to do the hunting for her, there was no way the younger woman would allow Challenger's statement to pass – er – unchallenged. Her lips curled upward in private amusement at her mental word play as she watched their young hostess in anticipation.

Sure enough, the huntress's amusement had abruptly faded. "Oh, really?" Veronica's cultured voice chilled as she tilted her head and crossed her arms, regarding the scientist with a hauteur that would have been admired amongst the highest of society's matrons. "You're saying that women shouldn't be hunters because they can't keep up with men?"

The peace-loving botanist cleared his throat in an effort to warn his colleague that he'd just misspoken. However, when Veronica lifted an imperious brow in his direction Arthur colored hotly and meekly bent his head to his task again, resorting to watching the developments from beneath his snow-white brows. She nodded and returned her attention to the ginger-haired scientist. Malone and Roxton exchanged alarmed looks at this further evidence of Veronica's pique, but the object of her ire missed the entire exchange. Neither did Challenger notice the abnormal silence that gripped the room as the others waited for his response to Veronica's question.

Although he was filling the canteens, the Professor was absorbed in musing about whether he could design a more efficient spigot for the water barrel. He was only paying surface attention to the general conversation, and once Veronica's question filtered through his plans to redesign the faucet on the water storage keg, he answered automatically: "Men are the clearly the better fitted gender to undertake the stresses of tracking and trapping wildlife to ensure provender on the tables of their households. Males have keener eyesight, more advanced reasoning skills, and the natural intuitions necessary to deal appropriately with predators. It's a well-established fact that men are the dominant -" his lecture broke off as he glanced up from capping a canteen to see that the younger men were staring at him, aghast. "What?" His puzzled gaze followed Ned's urgent nod toward Veronica.

Only then did it dawn on him that he was expressing a cultural standard that their hostess would find offensive. "I beg your pardon, Veronica, present company excepted, naturally."

Arthur Summerlee spoke up tentatively from the edge of the kitchen. "However, in this instance perhaps you _should_ stay here, Veronica. A hunt would only unnecessarily expose you to more mosquito bites. We wouldn't want to hazard possible health risks from the pests." He eyed her clothing, or more precisely, her lack of clothing, in concern.

"You'd be far more susceptible than I, Professor Summerlee," Veronica replied tartly.

Once again without thinking it through, the redheaded genius took it on himself to state the obvious. "While that may be an accurate generalization due to his age, men possess hardier constitutions -" He cut himself off as his attention was caught by Ned's urgent and not-so-discreet hand gestures. Quick reflection provided the insight that his rationale wouldn't help matters any, and he abruptly closed his mouth.

Now seething in earnest, Veronica glared at the four men, lips tightly compressed, eyes narrowed dangerously, clenched fists on her shapely hips as her scathing gaze moved from one man to the next. They could see the explosion coming, and braced themselves.

But before the furious blonde could vent the repudiation obviously on the tip of her tongue, Marguerite rose from her seat, took a graceful step forward, and intervened. "Actually …"

Although they were relieved at the reprieve from Veronica's wrath, the men regarded the other woman with mingled caution and suspicion, for one could never tell whether the volatile brunette's words would be incendiary or helpful.

Her green eyes bland, she suggested, "In this instance, Challenger, the very fact that you _are_ men is your greatest vulnerability."

Everyone blinked at her inexplicable words, including Veronica. All five of them regarded her blankly for a long moment before Challenger replied uncertainly, "I beg your pardon?"

"I'd forgotten all about it until Veronica pointed out just now that you men would be more susceptible than she would," Marguerite said, blithely including all four men in the comment their hostess had directed at the eldest. She stepped closer still to Veronica, and turned her back to the men so she could meet the blue eyes of the younger girl as she addressed her. "I laughed about it when I read it in your parents' journals, but of course you're right that at this time of year the men are far too vulnerable to venture outdoors for hunting, or indeed, anything else." _Come on Veronica, play along!_

Veronica warily studied her dark-haired counterpart, wondering what she was getting at.

The men exchanged puzzled looks and shrugs of incomprehension; none of the four was aware of any cause for any particular vulnerability. Once he observed that even Roxton, the explorer with the most experience in wilderness living, had no idea what Marguerite could be talking about, Challenger frowned and huffed cautiously, "I've never heard of anything about rainy season causing any such concern as you're implying, Miss Krux."

Marguerite gave the four men a decidedly disgusted look over her shoulder before returning her gaze to their hostess. Wryly, she coaxed, "Even if their current foot-in-mouth disease deservedly makes you want to let them go out there and learn the lesson the hard way, we can't afford for any of them to be injured. If they go out, you and I have no choice but to go along to protect them from the rainy season behavior of the Acinorev." She raised her brows expectantly at the uncertain younger woman. "It's the right thing to do, even if they are behaving like… _men_."

Unsure just what Marguerite was referring to, Roxton repeated flatly, "Protect us?"

More intrigued than alarmed, Ned added, "From _what_?"

"Acinorev?" Challenger rolled the word out slowly, brow beetled as he sought to connect it with anything he'd heard of in his vast studies. Coming up blank, he concluded flatly, "Never heard of any such creature. What's its genus?"

The slim brunette gave Veronica a look pregnant with meaning, clearly willing her to remain silent for the moment, before she turned to the puzzled and skeptical men. "It's really quite an amusing bit of trivia I stumbled across while reading a few weeks ago. There's a creature living here on the Plateau that becomes especially aggressive during the rainy season, but solely toward males. Abigail Layton recorded that both her husband and several other members of their party were attacked numerous times over successive years before they discovered the reason for the occurrences. Apparently, this Acinorev was quite harmless and friendly during encounters at other times of the year. It only becomes predatory during rainy season."

Veronica's face was carefully impassive as she listened to the tale being spun to the men, trying to match these details with anything she could recall from her parents' journals. _Is it possible that I've completely forgotten such a creature, or is Marguerite making this up? She's already proven herself to be well-practiced at deceit, but there's a ring of truth in her voice that can't be __all__ pretense, can it? _Well, either way, the jungle-born girl was annoyed enough with the men to go along with whatever game this might be, at least until she could figure out what the enigmatic lady was up to this time. So when the men glanced to her for confirmation, she merely shrugged and snapped, "Why are you looking at me? I'm only a _female_!"

Pleased that the younger woman hadn't called her bluff, Marguerite barely restrained a grin. Mildly, as if reasoning with their hostess, she said, "Now Veronica, I know that after the attitude they've just exhibited, they don't deserve either the warning or to have us go along to watch their backs, but you know you couldn't live with yourself if you let them leave the tree house without hearing what your father learned about all those years ago. And if they insist on going out, we have an obligation to go along, for the good of the whole group."

Recognizing the unspoken plea for her cooperation, visible on the other woman's face only while her back was to the men again, Veronica nodded slowly, reluctantly. She wasn't sure which she disliked more, not knowing Marguerite's intentions, or the men's ridiculous philosophy about a woman's "proper place" in society. But as long as she could keep an eye on the other woman… "Fine. We'll both go with them."

Marguerite winked at her, a smile tugging at her lips. But her voice was full of its usual petulant resignation as she sighed, "I can't believe I just talked us into this! Well, if we've got to endure a sopping wet jungle trek, I'm at least going to fasten my hair up." Maintaining a disgruntled expression, she treated each of the men to a look of annoyance as she stalked away from them. Headed toward her bedchamber, she tossed back over her shoulder, "You _gentlemen_ can wait a few minutes to do your precious hunting, can't you?"

The familiar sarcasm eased the suspicion hovering in Roxton's mind, and he decided that as long as he was able to do some hunting, enduring Marguerite's complaints would be worth the inconvenience. "Now, Miss Krux, no need to go primping just for our sake," he called after her, then added softly, "Proves the point that hunting shouldn't be done by ladies, eh?"

The lopsided grin he slanted toward the others froze as his dark green eyes met Veronica's frosty blue orbs. "Excepting you of course, Veronica; none of us has any doubt about _your_ abilities."

His hasty addition did not redeem him in her eyes. She glanced at the others. Not one of her male houseguests would meet her eyes, not even the mild-mannered Summerlee. The huntress briefly considered the temptation of subjecting each of the men to the impact of a knife handle, heartily and accurately cast at an appropriately vulnerable body place. She decided against it only because cohabiting with sulky or bruised men would be even worse than being stuck with arrogant ones.

She stalked past them to the elevator without another word, triggering it to descend to the ground. She would wait below, where their ridiculous "civilized" attitudes wouldn't make her any angrier than she already was. If they knew what was good for them, they'd behave themselves on this trip – and that included all five of them! Marguerite had better not do much grumbling after plotting to come along like this, or she'd find herself face down in the deepest puddle Veronica could find!

The men unconsciously released tense breaths of relief, and then they exchanged rueful grins. "That was close," Ned said.

"Too close," Summerlee agreed with a nod, reaching to take his pith helmet from its hook. "I can't help forgetting, at times, just how capable our hostess is, she can be such a genteel young lady most of the time."

"As opposed to our Miss Krux," agreed the young reporter who was the brunette's most frequent target. "Which journal do you suppose she read about this creature in?" Ned Malone asked, having learned to be suspicious of anything Marguerite told them. She'd been known to mock even gentle old Summerlee, despite the fact that he was the only one for whom she seemed to harbor any compassion. "Do you think she's pulling our legs about there being a creature that attacks men during rainy season?"

Challenger shook his head. "It's doubtful that this is one of her pranks. Haven't you noticed that she doesn't perpetrate mischief when it involves any inconvenience to herself? Based on what Veronica has told us about the conditions during rainy season, I'd say coming along with us will definitely require subjecting herself to discomforts she will heartily dislike. I can only conclude that this story of Marguerite's is most likely genuine. As she's made a point of informing us, she needs us to survive here and therefore does whatever it takes to help keep us safe," he reasoned.

"That's rather harsh, Challenger," Summerlee felt compelled to insert. "She has her moments of charity. But I do agree that the story about this creature may very well be true. After all, we have seen odder things on this plateau." He held up carefully wrapped bundles of snacks. "The food is ready, in case we're away from the tree house long enough to warrant sustenance. Are there any other preparations I can help with before we go?"

Thus prompted, the men returned to their tasks.

In short order all four men were armed and wearing their readied rucksacks. Roxton glanced toward the sleeping quarters, then beyond the balcony to where the gray skies seemed ready to dump another deluge on the jungle. Frowning, he raised his voice and bellowed, "Miss Krux, would you care to join us before we lose the window of opportunity? You want to end up being drenched by the next cloudburst?"

Marguerite came back into the great room, boots and duster already on, slipping her hat into place over a quickly plaited and pinned hairdo. "If I were you, boys, I'd make a serious effort to get all those boots out of your mouths and be very, _very_ polite to Miss Layton on this little hunting trip," she snickered.

Since she was right, Roxton quickly changed the subject to one with which he was more comfortable. "What did you call this creature we have to watch out for?"

"Acinorev," she replied promptly, strapping her gun belt around her slender waist. "For some reason the Laytons could never establish, the Acinorev ambushes only male humans during this time, never females. I'm sure Veronica would have mentioned it herself eventually, if you hadn't been behaving so boorishly."

Casually Ned asked, "Is that journal still handy? I've read quite a few of them now, and I don't remember reading about this Acinorev." He awkwardly voiced name of the creature, studying Marguerite's face intently for any sign of deceit.

She gave him a knowing look. "Doubting my word, Mr. Malone?" she queried dryly. "The journal is among those Veronica keeps in her room. I can retrieve it for you when we get back, if you'd still like to read it then. But as Lord Roxton so loudly pointed out a moment ago, if you men are going to enjoy George's _manly_ art of hunting while Malone's _teensy_ piece of blue sky is still providing us with this _window of opportunity_, we should go now."

Roxton repressed an appreciative grin at the way she'd managed to zing Challenger, Malone, and himself all within one sentence, and couldn't help agreeing with her point. "She's right, Malone; check the journal later. Daylight's a-wasting. Let's get going."

The five of them crowded onto the elevator and rode it down to the ground level.

One look at Veronica's stony face and impatiently tapping foot vanquished the men's hope that her ire had faded. In a valiant effort to make amends with their hostess, Roxton suggested she take the lead.

Her lip curled as she slapped yet another mosquito off her forearm. "I'm not going to break trail for you through a soaking wet jungle. This is your hunting party, Lord Roxton. I'm only along to watch your backs. Marguerite and I will bring up the rear after you boys have _manfully_ absorbed most of the moisture."

The broad-shouldered man knew when to cut his losses. He settled his hat more firmly on his longish dark hair, smacked a mosquito that had just stung his neck, and nodded. "Right, then. Let's head this way." He started out toward the west, knowing the higher ground in that direction should be drier going.

Ned, avoiding Veronica's irate gaze, tightened his grasp on his rifle with one hand as he waved at the droning insects around him with his other hand, and quickly fell into step behind the hunter.

Arthur Summerlee, after a beseeching look at the young blonde that went unrewarded, sighed, adjusted his pack, and followed the younger men. "Botheration," he muttered as he brushed several bugs from his face.

Challenger was the only one who seemed oblivious to the mosquitoes as he eagerly scanned the foliage around them while he fell into place in the small column, filing away mental notes about the changes wrought by the constant rains of the last three weeks. He'd been chafing at the bit for weeks now, anxious to come out and see how the habits of the lost world's denizens might have changed to adapt to these torrential rains.

Within a half dozen steps, the snowy-headed botanist's eye was also caught by the changes in their environment, and he too became unmindful of the insects buzzing around his exposed skin. He was enthralled by the vivid colors of leaves and blossoms that now thrived in the extra moisture of the rains. The tree house was barely out of sight before the trek was punctuated with excited comments from the two men of science. They continued to exclaim and bicker amicably about the wonders all around them until half an hour later when Roxton stopped in exasperation and reminded pointedly, "We are supposed to be _hunting_, are we not, gentlemen?"

The two women trailing along behind the men exchanged amused looks. But as Roxton returned his focus to working his way through the dripping jungle undergrowth, Veronica's eyes darkened with wrath again. "At least they're all going to be uncomfortably wet by the time we finish," she muttered, noting that Roxton's hat, shirt and pants were already soaked through as he pushed through the heavily sagging moisture-sodden foliage. "And those mosquito bites will drive them all nuts for the next couple days, too. What's more, I'm not giving _them_ any of my mother's remedy!" she added bitterly as she batted at a few more of the persistent insects.

Marguerite said softly to her companion, "Don't take it so hard, Veronica. Where they come from, most women expect to be treated as the 'fairer sex' who need to be reliant on men. Challenger and Summerlee are especially steeped in a time and level of society where women are considered to be weaker vessels that have to be sheltered and protected from the harsher realities of life. It will take them a while to relearn such a deeply ingrained idea, even though they see evidence to the contrary day after day. Eventually they'll restructure their thinking in accord with meeting a woman who's as refined and educated as you, yet who's also capable of independent strength."

Veronica stared at her in surprise, but the brunette ignored the fact that she'd just paid Veronica an unprecedented compliment, and continued sympathetically. "I know how you feel, believe me, but it takes longer than a few months to overcome a lifetime of thought patterns and traditions. Even though the men respect you, they'll occasionally stumble and treat you like a so-called civilized woman. They mean it in a nice way, actually," she added as she flicked away several mosquitoes from her neck and turned up the collar of her duster to protect the vulnerable area from the pests.

Veronica tucked away the respectful evaluation of herself for future consideration, and grimaced at Marguerite, one phrase of the older woman's explanation standing out as particularly odious. "Neither one of us is a - _weaker vessel_!" She spat out the term indignantly.

"No, although I must admit that the concept has come in handy a few times," the brunette's expression was extremely satisfied as she chuckled at the memory of more than a few men who had made the mistake of assuming that very thing about her. She cleared her throat and got back on topic. "But that's beside the point. Men are the ones who establish the philosophical rules of the world, and in general men believe they're the superior protectors, so I doubt that we'll see a change any time soon. You'll simply have to be patient. Even though the concept is ludicrous, the best you can do is to find a way to make their rules work to your advantage."

"Is that what you're doing right now? Making it work to your advantage?" With a keen look at the other woman, Veronica asked quietly, "What are you up to?"

The dark-haired beauty didn't take offense at the suspicious question as she answered, careful to modulate her voice as well to prevent any of the men from hearing. "Actually, I was telling the men the truth. But don't worry," she added at Veronica's quick frown of puzzled concern. "We can handle the situation without danger to anything other than the men's dignity. I think your mother's Acinorev is going to provide us with a little fun today."

The younger woman stopped walking, hands on her shapely hips, and frowned. "If there's a creature by that name, I don't remember reading about it, and I certainly don't think it will be fun to see the men attacked by anything – except maybe these bloody mosquitoes!" She paused as her companion giggled, and belatedly realized the irony in her description of the insects. "That wasn't meant to be funny," she admonished, although a smile tugged at her lips, too. She refused to be distracted, though. "Are you serious that you read about this Acinorev in a journal at the tree house?"

Not bothering to curtail her amusement, Marguerite grinned, "Oh, I definitely read about this creature in one of your parents' journals. Maybe it will refresh your memory if I remind you about the conditions under which the Acinorev ambushes its prey." She smiled in unadulterated delight in both her plan and in the reaction she anticipated from the irritated blonde. "I'll tell you about it while we catch up to the men again."

Increasingly puzzled by Marguerite's dancing green-gray eyes, Veronica listened as the other woman explained about reading an account of how the jungle trails flooded during this season every year. "Because of the uneven nature of the trails, your mother's journal says you can't tell how deep many of the puddles are until you suddenly find that you're up to your knees in muddy water. The Acinorev attacks when its victim is caught in just such a quandary, although it usually chooses locations where the accumulated water isn't that deep. When I read your mother's description, I couldn't help but recall when I was young, in Paris. We used to love to play a game that was similar to the Acinorev's assaults here. We used the deep puddles in the streets after a heavy rain. I happen to have excelled at this game, and I suspect you're just as good at it." She paused as enlightenment dawned in her companion's expression, and nodded in satisfaction. "I see you've remembered."

A smile tugged at Veronica's full lips again as she realized which jungle dweller Marguerite was describing. "Yes, I think I do recall the puddle jumper, now that you've refreshed my memory. I just didn't recognize it by the name you're using."

Marguerite laughed at the descriptive phrase. "Puddle jumper? Is that what you called it? Very apt!" She studied the younger girl's face and smiled in satisfaction; she and Veronica were now in one accord. "So all we need to do is keep an eye out for prospective places along the trail where the Acinorev might ambush the men. You know the trails well enough to anticipate the danger they face, don't you?"

Veronica grinned. "Indeed I do. You were right, Marguerite," she declared heartily. "It's a good thing we came along." Not only would this ridiculous hunting trip dissipate some of the pent up energy and tensions that had been building over the last twenty-three days, but the men might just get what they had coming to them.

She shook her head, marveling. She'd never have remembered this if not for Marguerite's prompting. It was amazing that the seemingly-callous woman would recall this particular story from amongst all the information she'd been absorbing from the journals left behind by the Layton expedition. Until now Veronica had merely tolerated Marguerite's interest in reading all of the personal and professional notebooks preserved so carefully. It seemed intrusive at times, to have a stranger delving into the treasured details, particularly when the brunette made snide comments about "sentimental claptrap" recorded by the Laytons. But the simple truth remained: letting Marguerite read to her heart's content kept the unpredictable woman busy and out of mischief. Now it appeared that maybe, just maybe, there might be occasional benefits to the others from what Marguerite learned as she read everything she could get her hands on.

The two older men were so wrapped in their observation and conversation - more hushed this time, to avoid Roxton's censure - that they didn't notice the behavior of the women over the next two hours. But up at the head of the little column, Ned had periodically cast concerned looks back at the pair handling rearguard.

He finally touched Roxton's shoulder and gestured at the women. "They've both been smiling now for over an hour," he reported in relief. "They look like they're actually getting along. I guess I gave them a common enemy," he admitted ruefully. "But whatever Marguerite's been saying to Veronica seems to have calmed her down."

"Good." Roxton absently ran a hand around the drooping brim of his hat, slicking off the gathering beads of moisture and flipping them away. He scanned the plethora of tree trunks and clusters of undergrowth for signs of either predators or prey. They were far enough from the tree house that he was ready to hunt, if he could just find some sign of anything worth taking back for the larder. The huntress had been absolutely correct about the lack of prey available to be hunted; nothing seemed to be moving except their own small group. He was beginning to think that they would have to return home empty-handed. "I don't fancy Veronica staying angry with us."

"Me either," Ned agreed, noting enviously that the older man's face was dry. _There's obviously an advantage to having a hat during rainy season_, he decided. He smoothed one hand over his face to wipe away excess water constantly dripping down from the jungle canopy above them. "Veronica was sure right about us getting wet," he admitted, uneasily aware that his clothes were thoroughly soaked through and clinging uncomfortably. "And about the mosquitoes, too." He slapped at two more bugs that were already bloated with his blood yet still trying for more.

"Yes, though it's no worse than I expected." The world renowned hunter's keen eyes lit as he noticed the tell-tale sign of something large having passed by recently enough that more rainwater had not yet collected to weigh down the lower fronds of a nearby set of giant ferns. Noting traces of a white substance lingering on the stalks, he unslung his rifle. "Pass the word back to keep it quiet, will you Malone?"

Recognizing the symptoms that Roxton had found some kind of tracks to follow, Malone nodded and fell back to give the message to the two older members of the group, and then to the two women. All three men tramped after Roxton through the ferns, while the two women waited on the path. Neither had any interest in following the men off the relatively clear path and into the heavily dripping foliage.

Veronica's practiced glance had instantly spotted what the other hunter had seen. She squatted down and pointed out the white traces to Marguerite. "Capybara," she stated. "It will make a nice change from the brontosaur meat, and even the largest ones don't weigh much more than us. The men won't have any trouble packing its meat home without our help, so we'll be free to keep an eye out for… potential Acinorev attacks." Her blue eyes twinkled merrily up at her companion.

Marguerite chuckled, but asked curiously, "Is there any danger from these capybaras?"

"No. They're plant eaters, and when they're threatened they don't attack; they head for water. There's a branch of the Summerlee River not far from here. Roxton will probably track the capybara to its herd on a grassy area near the riverbank. We'll know when he finds them. We'll hear a bunch of clicks, squeaks, whistles and grunts as the members of the herd signal one another of the danger before they all scoot for the safety of the water."

Marguerite grimaced and glanced around apprehensively. "Won't that noise draw non-human predators? Didn't you say the big ones get testy in this rainy weather?"

"Yes, and you're right that the herd's sounds could attract other predators, if there were any around, which there aren't." Seeing that the European woman wasn't reassured, she patiently explained, "Signs of anything really big being out and about would be pretty easy to see right now. Look how obvious the trail is for something as relatively small as the capybaras," Veronica pointed to the ferns, then explained that the white substance that had alerted Roxton was a remnant of the pre-rainy season mating scent the male mammals secreted to attract females of the species. "Ordinarily it wouldn't be so easy to see, but with the water weighing down leaves and branches everywhere, trails aren't hard to spot. When an animal brushes up against leaves or fronds as it passes by, the movement shakes loose the moisture. The larger the animal, the less moisture remains to weigh down the foliage, and the easier it is to see its sign this time of year."

"Makes sense," the other woman nodded. "No T-Rexes out today, then?"

"Nope," Veronica confirmed. "The only thing I've seen any sign of is these capybaras. I think this dry spell is too short to bring out most of the animals. Capybaras have pretty tough hides, with coarse hair that's pretty much impervious to becoming waterlogged. They like the wet weather. In fact, if the herd is already in the water when the guys find them, they'll have a tough time getting one, because once they're in the water they're really fast. But if they can locate them while they're feeding, Roxton won't have any trouble bringing one down."

Both women glanced toward the fern thicket as a cacophony of sound erupted from somewhere beyond. "There they go. It's only a matter of time now, seeing if they can get close enough before the herd reaches the water. The hardest part will be skinning them and dividing the meat to carry. Malone has gotten pretty good at carving up raptor, though, so if he and Roxton do the cutting and the other two do the packing, we could be headed home within the hour. It won't be any too soon, either," she added, with a wry look upward at the bit of gray sky visible through the canopy of leaves above them. "I don't think we'll have much longer than a few hours."

Two shots rang out, oddly muffled by the heavily saturated jungle, and then a shout of triumph.

"Sounds like Malone got off a good shot," Marguerite grinned.

Veronica chuckled ruefully. "Yes. Roxton may have hit his target, too, though. He doesn't usually make a lot of noise about it, since he's always more aware of the possibility of other predators around. Malone is lucky to have such a patient teacher."

The dark brows rose skeptically as the brunette echoed, "Patient?"

Veronica didn't answer, tensing as something crashed through the underbrush toward them. She was braced, the hilt of her knife gripped in throwing position, when Challenger burst from the ferns to skid to a stop gazing into the barrel of Marguerite's rifle. "Oh, I beg your pardon, didn't mean to alarm you!" he apologized breathlessly, and then held out his hand. "Pack!"

Marguerite shook her head, lowering the rifle Veronica hadn't even seen her unshoulder, let alone aim. "No way. I'm not toting anything that heavy and messy home in _my_ backpack. Use your own." She deftly shifted the rifle to hang by its strap over her shoulder again.

"But I've been gathering specimens!" he explained, frowning. "Neither Summerlee nor I can risk damaging our specimens by packing meat, too."

The brunette snorted. "Like we need more specimens in the tree house! No, Professor, you can empty your pack and Arthur's to use, but you're not touching mine."

He gaped at her in offended bafflement that she should make such a suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous, Miss Krux! Malone packed all of the trail snacks in your rucksack, so there's nothing of real value in yours! You can't seriously intend to hinder scientific research by having us leave behind the items we've gathered to study, when we could easily utilize your pack instead!"

Marguerite stubbornly folded her arms over her chest, lip curling in derision. "I couldn't care less about your stuffy scientific research, Challenger. What I _do_ care about is making sure that I'm not left with a bloody decomposing mess to clean out of my backpack," she retorted. Her implacable green eyes met the irritated and bewildered blue eyes of the man of science, no sign of yielding.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere, he gave up glowering at her and looked to Veronica in appeal for her support. Surely _she_ understood, with the amazing collection of plants and scientific data she kept at her home.

The young blonde shrugged, sheathing her knife. "Hey, we're just women. Hunting is for you big strong men, remember? Marguerite and I are only along to keep an eye out for the Acinorev."

With an impatient growl, the stymied scientist retreated, muttering, back toward the site of their hunt. The two women exchanged grins. "Do you want to go see what a capybara looks like?" Veronica asked, though she was certain she knew what the reply would be.

Sure enough, the other woman shuddered and rolled her eyes. "No thank you. I'm sure I'll be hearing enough about it during the next few weeks to envision it with perfect clarity."

Lips twitching, Veronica nodded. "You're probably right. And it will most likely get bigger with every description."

That brought forth the brunette's rare genuine smile. "Like the classic 'I caught a fish this big' stories!" she stretched her arms as wide as she could, face alight with laughter. "Now what do you suppose it is that makes men all over the world exaggerate like that?"

They passed the rest of their waiting time discussing their theories. When the four men trudged through the giant fern clusters almost an hour later with their heavily laden backpacks and self-satisfied expressions, it was to find both women doubled over in mirth - and one look at the grimy but self-satisfied men set them off all over again.

Pleased to find their hostess back in her usual good humor, and slightly bemused to discover the mysterious Miss Krux capable of such lighthearted laughter – not to mention the incredible fact that the frequently antagonistic women were apparently in perfect accord with one another - the men chose not to question the favorable circumstances. "Are you two ready to head back to the tree house?" Roxton asked with an assessing look upward.

"Definitely!" Veronica agreed, still giggling.

"You should've come to see the capybara I killed," Ned said to her with a proud smile. "It was huge, close to five feet long, and it must have weighed 140 pounds or more!"

For some reason that made Veronica hoot with laughter. His smile faded as he looked from Veronica to the chuckling dark-haired lady. "What?"

Controlling her laughter with visible effort, and exchanging twinkling looks with Marguerite, Veronica shook her head. "Nothing, Malone. Save your breath for carrying the meat back. You can tell me all about your kill once we get home."

"As if you could stop him," the other woman muttered under her breath, leading to another burst of laughter from Veronica.

"Women!" The young American shook his head as he followed Roxton back along the trail the way they'd come, stepping into place at the taller man's shoulder again. Ned shifted the straps of his heavy backpack, trying to find a less abrasive resting place over his wet shirt, and glanced back curiously at the two amused women. Neither was as wet as he and the other men were, but he'd have expected at least Marguerite to be heartily complaining about the discomfort of damp footwear or clothing. "Do you have any idea what they're laughing about?"

"Best not to ask, Malone," his mentor replied stoically, automatically clearing his hat brim of excess water yet again as he took another quick, calculating look up at the overcast sky. They'd worked their way back a trifle to the east again as they'd searched for game, so it would be a shorter walk home than the long outward march. Of course the two scientists would be moving slower now, weighed down with the meat they'd reluctantly agreed to carry in their packs in place of the specimens they'd gathered earlier.

Roxton also knew he should be prepared for at least a few stops while the men readjusted their backpacks; the weight of their kill rubbing sodden shirts into their shoulders would be an irritant before long – young Ned, carrying a heavier load than either of their elders, was already noticing it. The weight of the meat in their rucksacks would eventually slow the other three men so if Roxton could locate one or two trails that led more directly back to their compound, the odds would be much better that they'd be back under a roof before the rains came again.

Despite the fact that the hunt had been satisfying, it would be a relief to get out of the heavy, wet clothing – especially if it could be managed before the next downpour added to their discomfort. The women were still relatively dry and clean compared to their companions, who each sported soggy, sagging, blood-and-mud-streaked clothing and mosquito-bite-splotched skin, as Veronica had predicted.

Lord Roxton set a steady pace, determined to get the party to shelter as soon as possible.

Ned, remembering to keep his volume down, chatted animatedly about their kill, excited at having bagged a bigger capybara than Roxton's. He knew his enthusiasm amused the more experienced hunter, but this was his first successful hunt and he was thrilled with the experience; he appreciated the older man's tolerance.

The two men of science resumed their discussion of the storm-season changes to be noted in their environment. Because they were as uncomfortable as the younger men, and as aware of the impending rain, Summerlee and Challenger had no intention of dallying along the path to gather more samples. They contented themselves with arguing the significance of the marked increase in reddish plant growth amongst the verdant green foliage of the jungle, as well as taking mental notes on the numerous flowering plants flourishing on the jungle floor where ferns and shrubs were the usual norm.

"I think they've forgotten all about the Acinorev," Marguerite noted as none of the men showed any sign of further curiosity or concern about the creature, not even the usually alert hunter.

"If Roxton stays focused on scouting and clearing a more direct route home," Veronica whispered to her companion as they hiked along at the rear of the column again, "they're going to be completely vulnerable to attack. The other three will never notice anything."

Marguerite nodded. "Since you know these trails so well, you'll have to anticipate the most likely places. Give me a little warning, will you? I'd like a chance to evaluate the terrain before any confrontations."

The fair brows rose, and the younger woman gave the older an assessing look. That was a request she hadn't expected. But she should have, she realized. While the slim brunette was eerily good at thinking on her feet when faced with an unexpected situation, Marguerite always preferred to have a plan. She frequently criticized Roxton for charging ahead without a concrete strategy. Veronica hadn't known the explorers very long before she'd noticed the European lady's need to maintain control of events in her life. Marguerite might be a novice at jungle survival skills compared to Lord Roxton, or even George Challenger, but it didn't pay to underestimate her. After all, it had been she who'd pointed out soon after leaving the tree house that the men would be more likely targets for the Acinorev on the way home, when the group was slower moving and was less alert to sneak attacks. "I'll let you know if we're coming up on ambush territory," Veronica agreed simply.

Marguerite nodded, satisfied. She eyed the men on the trail ahead with a satisfied smirk as she noticed Ned once again shifting his bulging pack in an effort to ease the friction of the straps bearing down on his wet shirt. Of course it would have been better if Roxton had shown the same signs of discomfort that the other three men were exhibiting, but he seemed unbothered by the weight of his pack, the still-swarming mosquitoes, or the inconveniences of water-logged clothing and boots … leave it to _him_ to spoil the best amusement in over three weeks!

He turned at that moment, in response to Summerlee's call for a momentary halt, and Marguerite suddenly found her heart beating faster. She quickly amended her last uncharitable thought; there was plenty of entertainment to be found in watching the nobleman today. Lord John Richard Roxton's shirt and pants, soaked through, clung to every line of his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body. The man might be irritatingly arrogant, but he was definitely a breathtaking specimen of manhood.

A tiny smile playing about her lips, she watched the display of rippling muscles as the hunter stepped behind the snowy-haired botanist and helped him adjust his backpack to a less-painful position. The cotton plastered to Roxton's body revealed that the hard physical labors of the expedition had already begun to hone a physique that, despite evidence of typical upper-class indulgences, was doubtless a remarkable example of male beauty. The man was one of the sexiest –

Roxton looked up and met her gaze. He blinked at the blatant appreciation in her smoky green-gray eyes. _Ah! Is she finally in the mood for another round of our ongoing flirtation? She's been remarkably restrained since we've been confined indoors, avoiding me or ignoring my teasing attempts to lure her into a dalliance – just to relieve the tedium, of course._ A slow self-assured smile spread across his sun-bronzed face, and he waggled a brow at her. Instantly her interest vanished into a sneer of rejection. For a moment he was disappointed, as well as piqued. But then he reminded himself of the lascivious look he'd seen on her beautiful face. _She might refuse me now, but where there's smoke there's fire… fire and steel… and one of these days…_ With a determined glint in his dark green eyes, he graced her with a lopsided grin and returned to the task of leading the party home.

Marguerite shivered at the heated effect of his charmingly boyish grin, and abruptly pulled her errant thoughts into line. He had no way of knowing it was herself she was disgusted with, her own emotions she was rejecting. _I can't believe I was so incautious as to let him catch me admiring him – the man is insufferable enough without giving him any encouragement!_ She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of a conquest when she had nothing to gain from the affair. No, her goals were too important to allow herself to be sidetracked, particularly with a man as dangerous as Lord Roxton. He was already too bloody good at reading her to chance him gaining any deeper insight.

Veronica, having witnessed the exchange and Marguerite's resultant scowl, swallowed back a teasing remark and smothered her grin. She wondered how long it would take these two to work through their obvious attraction to one another… and why the sophisticated dark-haired beauty was so resistant to the handsome British lord, anyway. She wanted to be rich, and Roxton was wealthy. While he could be brash and bullheaded, he was an honorable man.

In fact, each of her male guests was an honorable man.

_It's nice having them share the house with me, nice to have companions after so long alone there. Well, except during rainy season, perhaps._ Tempers had grown rather short fused, particularly in the last few days. Even gentle Professor Summerlee had begun snapping at the other men. Only Marguerite had seemed unaffected by the close conditions, actually behaving with more self-possession than usual instead of exhibiting greater petulance.

Not for the first time since the storms had begun, Veronica speculatively eyed the dark-haired lady walking beside her. It wasn't that the volatile woman wasn't indulging in her usual acidic commentary. She rarely passed up a chance to tweak any of her companions with her dry mockery and the sly comments that were so obviously calculated to get a rise out of her victims. But her behavior hadn't gotten worse when they'd been restricted to the tree house, as everyone had feared. While the men had become more irritable and short-tempered with each passing day, Marguerite's usual moodiness hadn't increased. If anything, she seemed to be acting and speaking with more restraint rather than less.

_Curious. If my suspicions are correct, then Marguerite is more dangerous right now than she's been at any moment since arriving on the plateau, despite looking relaxed and friendly. A good puddle jumper bout might be just what the doctor ordered to relieve some of that tamped down energy that must be boiling beneath the surface… for everyone's sake. And the fact that Marguerite is looking for just such an encounter indicates that she's aware of it, too, and is planning to use the situation to vent in a manner that won't harm the rest of us._

That was even more curious, since it meant Marguerite was being… considerate.

Veronica's forehead creased as she weighed this concept against what she knew of Marguerite. _No, couldn't be. I'm trying too hard to find something to like about her, some basis to build a friendship with her, even though every instinct warns me to be cautious about her._ The European was too smooth-talking, too quick to adopt new façades depending on what she wanted at the moment. The only excuse for such tactics was if one's survival depended on it. _Granted, since they've been stranded here there were a couple times when her playacting came in handy, but there's no reason for Marguerite to employ her deceptions the rest of the time. And I shouldn't encourage her._

Briefly she considered abandoning their temporary alliance… but then decided it would be best to carry through. Whatever Marguerite's hidden goals might be, the men had needed this hike. They were only halfway through rainy season, and this excursion was perfect for blowing off enough steam to see them through the remaining housebound time.

Marching along beside the blonde, Marguerite discreetly watched the play of thoughts crossing the younger woman's expressive face. She was well aware that Veronica's instincts about her were colored by the ill-advised attempt to barter her to Chief Jacoba. _Bad move, that, though it seemed like the only choice at the time._ She not only regretted endangering the other girl, but also deplored that her actions had revealed the lengths to which she might go to secure her own welfare. It would have been easier to deal with these adventurers if she could've kept her lack of moral limitations from them for a while longer.

Not that she was making any progress toward her goal, anyway. With the rainy season upon them, her search for the Ouroboros had pretty much ground to a halt. The only positive aspect was that she had plenty of time now to scan through Veronica's parents' writings for some clue to the location of the mystic artifact. But to disguise her true activity from the keen eyes of the hunter and the huntress, as well as from the curiosity of the reporter and the kindly attention of Summerlee – thank God for Challenger's absorption with his scientific folderol! – she had to pretend an interest in browsing through novels as well, feigning an indolent attitude about passing the time in reading whatever was handy instead of concentrating on working her way straight through the journals. She'd had plenty of practice perfecting her patience… but she'd been unprepared for the complications that had arisen with this group of adventurers.

How could she have anticipated her tenderness for an old man who never should have embarked on this treacherous journey? Or the extra caution necessary to avoid the pesky young American's extraordinary curiosity about anything and everything around him? Or the inexplicable empathy she felt for the genius who had no capacity for interpersonal relationships? Or the strange draw of the smug hunter who watched her every move, waiting to pounce on her at the first sign of weakness? Or finding this untamed young firebrand in this lost world, so self-sufficient and yet so in need of guidance and protection from those who would use her?

_The more time I spend with these people, the greater my desire to shield them from my world, from others like myself. And I don't like it, not one little bit. Caring about others makes one vulnerable. I can't afford to be vulnerable. I can't afford to care. _The fact that getting out of their arboreal home would be good for all of them should never have crossed her mind. She should simply have slipped out by herself, taken care of her own need to seize the opportunity of leaving their confined living quarters. Or she could have accepted being left behind and then hiked to the pond on her own once they were gone. But she hadn't. Instead she'd remembered reading about how the Laytons had survived rainy seasons together… and because she knew her idea would provide a level of release beyond a mere hunt, she'd invited Veronica to conspire with her to provide everyone with this break.

_I need more than a hike outside the compound fence; I need to realign my priorities. And I need to get away from these people as soon as possible. _Feeling the panicked, closed-in feeling rising yet again, Marguerite forced it back into the recesses of her mind. A quick glance at Veronica showed that the other woman hadn't noticed the increase in her tension; her brow was furrowed in concentration as she mentally reviewed the upcoming terrain.

The Acinorev… Marguerite's lips twisted into an unwilling smile. _It seemed like such a good idea at the time… and it's still a good idea_, she decided. _What better way to vent my resentment at the way each of them is sliding under my guard? _

With renewed anticipation, she took note of the men's positions ahead of them. Still slogging along, she spotted both Challenger and Summerlee in the act of uselessly shifting their rucksack straps. They wouldn't find a comfortable position, not with the weight rubbing through the wet, clingy material of their shirts and jackets.

Poor Summerlee looked absolutely miserable, droplets of water leaking onto his neck and face from the brim of his pith helmet and lingering in his neatly trimmed beard, while mosquitoes nipped at the exposed area around his ears and the edges of his clothing. His limp was more noticeable under the added burden of his pack – which, she'd noticed, held less bulk than that of the other three men. Young Malone, or perhaps Roxton, must have arranged that; his esteemed colleague wouldn't have thought of it.

George Challenger wasn't in much better shape, though his face and neck were a trifle more protected thanks to his wide-brimmed hat and his scraggly red beard and moustache, which seemed to hinder the mosquitoes from getting at his face. The dampness this past three weeks had affected his joints, and though he refused to admit to such weakness, he, too, was walking stiffly. To give him credit, he had matched his usual long-legged stride to the older scientist's.

Ned had given up wearing his backpack; it irritated his shoulders and back too much. He was carrying it first with one hand, then the other, shifting it back and forth, and shifting his rifle from shoulder to shoulder, too. He was walking with an odd, quick step that revealed the fact that blisters had formed as his soggy stockinged feet rubbed inside his wet boots. Between switching his grip on his pack and rifle, Ned almost continually raised whichever hand was free and wiped his face clear of moisture, then slicked his hand back through his short hair to eliminate some of the excess water, finally swatting at mosquitoes again before starting the cycle over again.

Roxton alone carried his backpack with apparent effortlessness, she noted with disgust, along with a reluctant admiration that irked her. _The man is altogether too –_ Marguerite's mixed feelings merged into amusement as she noticed the impatience evident in his movement when he raised one hand and slicked accumulated water from his hat brim. _Aha!_ Then he slapped a pair of mosquitoes feeding off the back of his neck, and Marguerite chuckled.

This was definitely a good day, well worth the minor discomfort of a few mosquito bites, muddy, sodden boots, and moisture-saturated trousers and duster.

A moment later, the day became even better as Veronica stepped a little closer to the dark-haired woman. Softly she said, "Around the next bend is a bit of a straight-away. There's a depression in the path there that floods every year, probably a good ten feet along the pathway, maybe four or five feet wide, with no hint that it's knee deep or more. Prime spot for puddle jumpers, so be ready."

Knee deep…

Marguerite's step quickened to draw closer to the two scientists. "Arthur," she called sweetly, ignoring Veronica's sharp questioning look as the younger woman hurried to keep pace.

The kindly gentleman paused and waited for the two women to catch up, glad for a reason to stop walking, if only for a moment. "Yes, my dear?"

Challenger glanced back long enough to see Marguerite slip her arm through Summerlee's and draw him into step between herself and Veronica as she smiled up at him. "Walk with us for a little bit," he heard her say, and, ensured that Summerlee would be in good hands, the ginger-haired man moved ahead to join the younger men.

"Of course, my dear; delighted," the botanist agreed promptly, though he was a trifle puzzled by the request. "Is everything quite all right?"

"Just perfect," Marguerite purred as the other three men disappeared around the bushes that hid the straight-away. She unshouldered her rifle and extended it to Summerlee. "This might come in handy as a staff, if you'd care to use it the rest of the way back to the tree house, Arthur."

He accepted it politely, beaming at her. "How considerate of you, my dear. Thank you."

"Not at all," the brunette smiled.

Veronica nodded her approval when her co-conspirator caught her eye. This time there was no doubt that Marguerite was indeed being considerate of someone else, and the jungle girl was impressed and pleased at the discovery. There was no reason to subject Arthur to what lay ahead; he was already paying a heavy price for this jaunt, despite his enjoyment of the flora.

The trio rounded the corner behind the other men, just in time to see them reach a stretch of path that looked no different than a dozen other areas where standing water had converted the trail to a muddy puddle.

Roxton, half a step ahead, felt his boot sink further than he'd anticipated, realized the path dipped here, automatically balanced himself and started to warn the others to be careful.

The exuberant American, however, was too close behind him to see what was happening. When Ned's boot failed to find purchase beneath the water, he faltered and stumbled against Roxton.

Still moving forward as he attempted to keep Malone upright at his side, the hunter grunted in surprise as the trail beneath the water unexpectedly dipped steeply downward and he, too, fought for balance. With alarm, he found himself struggling to control his descent on the hidden path while still stabilizing the younger man, too. They were a tangle of arms, legs, rucksacks and rifles, all akimbo until Roxton finally managed to plant both feet on solid ground where the path leveled out, knee-deep in water. Ned wavered a nerve-wracking moment longer until the other man's solid grip on his arm proved to be the deciding factor in saving him from an unplanned submersion in the mud.

George Challenger, distracted by an intriguing violet-colored vine, was belatedly alerted to the danger by the younger men's grunts, cries and splashes. He tried to halt his own momentum but slipped on the muddy trail. His eyes widened in alarm and he flailed his arms as he tried valiantly to keep his feet beneath him while he slid toward them.

Roxton and Malone heard him coming and turned just in time to brace themselves as they each grasped one of the scientist's arms and stopped him from falling headlong into them as the path fell away beneath the water. The trio staggered further into the deceptive depths of the puddle until, with the other two to prop him, Challenger was able to reestablish his footing.

They stared at one another for a breathless moment, and then grinned at each other in relief at the close call. "We almost ended up with a mud bath," Ned chuckled.

Before anyone could reply, Roxton's keen eye was drawn over Challenger's shoulder by quick movement on the path. His jaw dropped, and he released George's arm and started to back away, but he was too late.

Veronica and Marguerite had left Arthur Summerlee at the curve of the trail, gaping after them as they dashed full speed side by side down either edge of the trail toward the men. They hurtled feet first into the water several feet away from their housemates. Their impact sent a solid wave of muddy water surging up at the men.

Challenger and Malone turned to see what had Roxton spooked, instinctively stepping to either side to give him a clear field of fire if necessary – just in time to expose the nobleman to an equal share of the small tidal waves that splashed all the way up to their chests.

The men staggered back a step. Ned let out a howl of outrage. Challenger sputtered indignantly at the unprovoked attack. Roxton looked down at himself in disbelief, then looked back up with fire lighting his dark eyes.

Before the men could recover, the two laughing women followed through with a second deliberately-angled jump that slammed their booted feet back down into the water almost simultaneously and produced a second, higher gush of murky liquid. While lacking the solid power of the first round, the new angle succeeded in splattering the three men from head to foot with mud and bits of debris that dribbled from their hair, faces and shoulders.

"That does it!" Ned ground out. He tossed his pack and rifle to the nearby bank and stooped to whip his cupped hand through the puddle and send a stream of gunk toward the women.

Prepared for this natural response, Veronica dodged to the side and mimicked his attack, splashing him so quickly that he found himself spitting out a mouthful of the grunge before he could straighten up. Marguerite ignored the younger couple's confrontation and opted for yet a third perfectly calculated puddle jump that sent a stream of muddy water directly at Roxton's head.

When he wiped his face clean he found her braced to retreat in any direction, smirking at him with dancing eyes. "Bested by a mere woman, Lord Roxton?" she challenged.

"Not by a long shot, Miss Krux," he said evenly. Very deliberately, he waded to the side and set his rifle safely on the rise there. When he turned to face her, he was met with another expertly generated wave of filth to the face. Grimacing, he wiped it away, only to be spattered again. Increasingly irate, the hunter shrugged off his pack and dropped it beside his rifle – then wished he hadn't as his back was doused with a muddy surge from yet another skilled maneuver from Marguerite. He turned, eyes narrowed, lips pressed tightly together, ready for battle.

Beyond his antagonist, he could see Ned squaring off against Veronica, scrambling around in the water trying to get past the blonde's defenses enough for a chance at a decent return splash. He didn't appear to be faring much better than Roxton; the canny huntress sent another wall of water toward the sputtering American every time he tried to set himself.

Challenger was stiffly making his way out of the pit, muttering darkly about childishness and insults to one's dignity. Marguerite took the time to execute another of those angled jumps, sending a stream of gunk up George's back only a second before he was hit by a salvo from Veronica, so that he was just as wet and filthy behind as ahead. An immediate hand-swished wave from the blonde in Ned's direction occupied the drenched reporter long enough for the jungle girl to exchange grins of delight with her dark-haired cohort at the visibly offended, stiff-backed pause taken by Challenger before he continued his absurdly dignified withdrawal from the battle zone, dripping with grime.

Witnessing that exchange between the women, Roxton's anger faded. _Payback, that's what this is – at least that's the excuse. Marguerite set it up back at the tree house, and Veronica went along with it because of our blundering words about women. Acinorev indeed!_ Well, truth be told, he could see the humor in it. Moreover, he spotted Summerlee safely out of the melee with Marguerite's rifle in his hands, chuckling at the women's antics as he stood guard – good; the old gentleman was out of this, a move that was both smart and compassionate of the women – and with Challenger joining Arthur on the sidelines, that left the field free for the younger adults to indulge in some serious stress-relieving fun.

He turned his attention back to Marguerite just in time to twist his upper body away and thus avoid another face full of filthy water. "Okay, that's it," he grinned, and he swooped toward the laughing brunette, sweeping successive waves of the now wildly-surging puddle toward her.

She shrieked and dodged with an agility he couldn't help but admire, then executed another expertly angled jump that caught him flatfooted in mid-retaliation. He blinked the water from his eyes and decided his only chance was a full frontal attack. He charged, tackling her and taking her down against the sloped edge of the mud puddle. It wasn't deep enough to do serious damage to her upper body, but at least it stopped her from – he spat out a mouthful of the grungy water she swooshed into his face with a cupped hand, and lurched to his feet as she scrambled away, her semi-muddy state making her too slippery to hold onto – and he quickly found that the submerged path was too slick to stay on his feet, too. He went down almost as fast as he'd risen.

Interestingly, the sizable splash created by his tumble gave him the best results he'd managed in their little water war so far. Marguerite was still close enough that she ended up splattered with more puddle water than when he'd specifically targeted her. But she was still laughing, wading back out of his reach as he lunged toward her from his knees, and gleefully kicking another surge into his face.

Beyond her, Roxton could see that Ned still hadn't managed a decent attack against Veronica. Other than below her knees, the blonde was showing no sign of having been splashed back yet. Of the four of them, she was the steadiest on her feet, apparently having no trouble keeping her balance on the muddy, water-covered trail as she danced around Ned, out of his reach as she alternately jumped or splashed to send tidal waves at the hapless reporter, much as Marguerite had been doing. This was obviously a skill that they'd both mastered, probably in childhood.

He only just barely evaded another attack from Marguerite by slip-sliding sideways, then, throwing caution to the winds, closed his eyes and belly-flopped in her direction. When he made it back to his knees and wiped the muck from his eyes, he was delighted to find Marguerite not three feet in front of him, standing straddle-legged to keep her balance in the irregular currents as she wiped her own face. She was dripping with muddy detritus from her head on down. "Hah!" he crowed. "Take that!"

Witnessing the maneuver, Ned scowled in determination and mimicked the nobleman, catching Veronica off guard by throwing himself bodily into the churning puddle with his arms and legs thrown wide to create the most wide-spread splash he could. Coming up for air, he laughed and pointed at her, now sporting bits of leaf and twig and muddy runoff, just as he was.

He didn't even get to his knees before the sole of Veronica's booted foot was pressed to his shoulder shoving him backwards, and he went under again. But now it was not much different than roughhousing and Ned simply grasped her ankle and pulled her off balance as she pushed him over, taking her down with him. He sat up a bit unsteadily in the agitated water, still gripping her ankle, and, seeing that she'd kept herself from a dunking by extending her arms down into the puddle to catch herself before submerging, Ned grinned and yanked on her leg. Losing her leverage, Veronica went under.

The reporter glanced over his shoulder and raised a victorious fist to Roxton, and looked forward again just in time to get smacked full in the face by a new wave generated by Veronica when she surfaced. Laughing, he scooped a retaliatory wall of water back at the chortling girl, and they sat there shoulder-deep in the puddle and splashed fiercely at one another, hooting and laughing and sputtering under the deluges.

Challenger, initially furious at the insult to his dignity, began to chuckle as he watched the two battles. He started to cheer Ned and Roxton on, but Summerlee quietly reminded him that the women were likely to come after him again. It took only a moment to decide that Veronica and Marguerite were indeed perfectly capable of dragging him back into that puddle. Noting the thoroughly filthy condition of their younger housemates, he decided he'd been let off lightly and refrained from placing himself at further risk.

Marguerite had taken Roxton's gloating with surprisingly good grace – perhaps because a comparison of their physical conditions would have made her the victor – merely laughing before she executed a two-footed puddle jump that created a surge strong enough to knock his hat off.

He lunged after it, retrieved it and turned to retaliate, and was blasted by yet another wall of water from the crafty brunette. She'd taken advantage of his inattention to step into the deeper water behind him, and hit him with her best shot before he had his guard back up. By the time he'd cleared his face again, she had strategically retreated and was grinning mischievously at him from the relative safely of shallower depths.

He slogged through the water toward her, and she waved a warning finger at him, eyes dancing.

He should've heeded the warning. She'd positioned herself so he'd have to cross a sudden dip in the trail that she'd noticed as she backed away. When his boot failed to find purchase beneath the water, his forward momentum stole his balance and, flailing wildly, he fell forward.

Expecting it, she waded safely out of the splash zone this time, and, when he surfaced spitting murky fluid and reached for his floating hat again she pointed at him and hooted, "Aha! Take that!"

He couldn't help grinning as she threw his words back in his face. But it didn't keep him from diving toward her and sweeping her legs from beneath her, tumbling her over his shoulder and back into the deeper water behind him. She came up gasping and bedraggled, and he teased, "Having fun yet?"

Once again proving to be unpredictable, she laughed and said "Absolutely!" Then, still laughing, she ducked, twisted and using her full body weight, created the highest, densest wave he'd seen yet, sending it straight at him.

He tried turning sideways to limit its impact, but still ended up staggering and losing his footing again. He sat up in disgust, automatically looking around for his hat. This time it was all the way over at the edge of the puddle. He decided to leave it there, scrambled to his feet – and had them swept from beneath him by Veronica because he'd made the mistake of moving within her reach while he'd battled it out with Marguerite.

He came up sputtering indignantly and sent a flurry of waves at Veronica. Ned quickly did the same, double-teaming her. Giggling, the blonde tried to fend them both off, doing quite a good job of it.

"What, one on one against a mere woman isn't enough for you big manly men?" Marguerite jeered, and joined the fray.

It quickly descended into a free-for-all that might have gone on indefinitely, if the skies hadn't opened with a full-throated thunder and lightning storm that included a heavy downpour of oddly chilly rain.

The foursome quickly waded out of the puddle and gathered their discarded belongings. "Follow me! Shortcut!" Veronica yelled through the rumbling thunder, and led the group a dozen yards back the way they'd come before she veered off on a smaller trail that Roxton had ignored in favor of the wider, easier route for the professors.

They were thoroughly chilled and soaked to the bone – and also a good deal cleaner, courtesy of the heavy rainfall – by the time they crowded through the compound gate and huddled into the bamboo lift. But they were each in markedly better spirits as they toweled off, temporarily changed into dry clothes, and started chores while they waited for the water to heat sufficiently for more thorough bathing.

Veronica prepared their dinner – stew to warm them all up – and passed around her mother's mosquito-bite remedy to be liberally applied to the red itchy blotches that marred everyone's skin. Marguerite gathered all the wet clothes for the laundry pile and then set the table before settling into a comfortable chair with a book. Arthur unloaded the capybara meat and prepared it for seasoning and smoking, all the while puffing away on a comforting pipe. Ned regaled Veronica with descriptions of the hunt as he cleaned out their rucksacks at the wash barrel – oblivious to the twinkling looks exchanged by the two women. George reluctantly sorted and stored the canteens and cleaned packs, mentally organizing the facts he would document about the effects of rainy season on the surrounding topography. John, of course, set to work cleaning everyone's weapons with his customary efficiency.

Once Ned finished with the rucksacks, he opened one of his ever-present journals and began to pen a record of the day's adventures. He hadn't written much when he suddenly stiffened and yelped "Acinorev! It's _Veronica_ backwards! _She's_ the rainy season predator Marguerite told us about!"

Each of the men paused to assimilate this information, and Challenger grunted. "Now why didn't I see something that obvious before?" he marveled.

Summerlee puffed on his pipe, then removed it from his mouth and asked with a smile, "You only attacked the men, never your mother?" He added a generous sprinkling of spices to the deboned meat on the counter cutting board as he waited for her answer.

She grinned slyly, stirring the stew on the stove. "My mother kept too close an eye on me to get away with puddle jumping her. I used to stalk the men when they went out hunting between rainstorms and jump out at them from the underbrush. I kept a year-to-year tally of how often I managed to sneak up on them and how many I could splash before someone caught me. Funny, but I'd forgotten all about it until today, they've all been gone so long. It was a lot of fun to relive it again."

"Oh yeah, fun," the reporter agreed dryly, then relented as he saw her smile dim. He quickly added, "Just kidding. It really was fun, Veronica. And I'm sorry about being so tactless earlier."

Veronica shrugged. "It's okay. Marguerite explained more about how your society works, and while I don't agree, I understand it better now. It's a bit romantic, or chivalric I guess."

At the sound of her name, the dark-haired European glanced up from her book. "It's archaic," she said flatly, and went back to reading as her companions exchanged grins. She missed John's lingering, thoughtful gaze.

"How did your dad respond to being ambushed by this Acinorev?" Ned asked curiously. "What did you call it? Puddle jumping?"

"Yes, my parents called me a puddle jumper. Marguerite came up with the name _Acinorev_ to keep anyone from guessing she was talking about a person. Wasn't it a great idea? I didn't get it at first either. I kept trying to remember the scientific names of all the rainy season predators I knew, but I couldn't figure it out. Marguerite had to tell me, so don't feel too badly about not seeing it yourself, Professor," she said kindly to George, meeting his gaze across the great room.

He nodded his appreciation, somewhat appeased by her assessment, and smiled at her kindness. Really, after his blundering this morning he didn't deserve her charity. It reminded him of his Jessie's forbearance with his oft dull-witted utterances. He really should avoid commenting on non-scientific theorems; it never failed to land him in hot water. Speaking of which… he checked the temperature of the steaming contents of the cauldron over the open flames. "I'd estimate about five more minutes," he directed the words toward the brunette sprawled lazily in the nearby chair.

Marguerite spared him a brief smile but barely looked up from the book balanced on her knees.

"That was very well done, my dear," Summerlee whispered to Veronica as he passed behind her with the last of the meat to add to the rack for smoking. "Now he won't sulk all through dinner."

She grinned over her shoulder at him, tickled at his conspiratorial wink. "Too obvious?" she whispered back.

"Not at all, or young Malone would have noticed."

True enough; there was no sign that anyone else had taken note of her discreet soothing of the ginger-haired scientist's pride. In fact, Ned was still focused on the story that had prompted their day's water sporting. "Marguerite said it's all recorded in a journal you keep in your room. If you don't mind, could I read it?" he asked. "It would make a good historical anecdote to add to my book."

"Sure! I'll go get it for you," she agreed, eager to share a source of her childhood memories with the writer. She handed her wooden spoon to the botanist to mind the stew, and dashed off down the curving staircase. Veronica mounted the steps again with a pair of leather journals just as Challenger announced that the hot water was ready.

Roxton, who had duly noted how often Marguerite's name had come up in his housemates discussion of the day's adventure, set aside the oil cloth and gun parts he'd been cleaning and rose from his workbench. "I'll carry a pail down for Marguerite," he said simply.

She shot him a sharp look, puzzled at the unexpected offer. He'd refused to carry the heavy pail more than once in the past, stating officiously that it would do her good to tote her own water up and down the stairs. She hadn't even asked for help this time!

Challenger simply nodded his approval and dipped a bucketful from the larger container to hand to the tall nobleman. "Here you are, John. This should be plenty."

"After you, milady," he grinned with playful formality, bowing slightly in her direction as he effortlessly held the wooden pail that would have taken her both hands to lift, let alone carry.

"Thank you, kind sir," she replied with a regal nod, preceding him down the stairs as their housemates chuckled at the brief byplay.

He followed her downstairs to her chamber, and easily poured a generous amount of the hot water into the ceramic basin sitting ready on her storage trunk - another task she'd have struggled to accomplish. "It's not a full bath, but maybe tomorrow we could set up the burners beneath the tub for you," he offered as he set the bucket down beside the trunk.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why?" she asked bluntly, folding her arms.

Roxton didn't prevaricate. Meeting her gaze he answered honestly, "Because you did really well today. A bit brilliant, really, flipping Veronica's name like that and orchestrating the puddle jumping. We all needed a good outlet for the tensions that had built up, and you gave it to us."

_Ut-oh, this isn't good. What did I say or do today that makes him think I'd care enough to set all this up for their benefit? Not that he's altogether wrong, but… He's too bloody perceptive! That's all I need, one of these do-gooders deciding I'm a team player! Next thing you know they'll be expecting me to regularly set aside my priorities for the good of the group! Well, it's not going to happen. How can I make him question his conclusion?_ Mentally keeping her fingers crossed, she wrinkled her nose and sniffed derisively. "Don't be so dramatic, Lord Roxton. Your little hunting jaunt was more than sufficient to let everyone burn off excess energy." She ticked off the specific evidence, person by person. "Malone was practically bouncing down the trail both coming and going, and the professors were giddy with glee at the effects of the rainy season – and you're never more pleased than when you've just added a new creature to your trophy list. That's what cheered everyone up. The rest was merely a bit of mischief."

He studied her silently for a long moment, and she boldly met his searching look. Finally he nodded and, dark green eyes twinkling, he said, "Well, I've been told it's a gentleman's duty to believe what a lady tells him."

Her silver-green eyes widened, then narrowed. That's what she'd told him on their journey up the Amazon, when he'd questioned her motives for joining Challenger's expedition to the Lost World. And he'd promptly retorted that she shouldn't let his title fool her, that he was as far from being a gentleman as she was from being a lady. _Is he quoting me to indicate that he accepts what I'm telling him… or is he reminding me that he doesn't consider himself to be a gentleman, or me to be a lady, and therefore doesn't believe me?_

Roxton chuckled and performed a mocking bow. "Don't take too long with your ablutions, Miss Krux. You don't want to miss dinner." He strolled casually out of her room – and then leaned back into the doorway. "And I'm still going to heat that bath for you tomorrow." He waggled his brows at her and vanished again.

_Well, that answers that. He thinks I deserve a little pampering, which means he still believes that I engineered today's shenanigans for some ridiculously altruistic reasons instead of for my own amusement. Blast! This is what I get for not sticking strictly to business!_ Chagrined, Marguerite glared after him and listened to his cheerful whistle fade as the irritating man clattered up the steps to the great room. _I'm going to have to be much more careful around that man, or he's going to get in the way of carrying out my plans!_

_Oh well_, she shrugged with a sigh, turning to the still-steaming water. _That's a problem for another day. At least I can look forward to enjoying the infrequent luxury of a hot bath tomorrow. And today was more fun than I've had since…_ Well, since she'd been living in the alleys of Paris a lifetime ago with a gaggle of other street urchins, engaging in a city version of puddle jumping. Truth be told, she didn't think those youthful games had been any more satisfying than playing puddle jumper with Veronica today. A smile lingered about her lips as she began to wash up.

Ned's minuscule bit of blue sky had given them a fair amount of fair weather today after all. There was bound to be another break in the storms before the wet season ended. If and when that happened, Marguerite had no doubt that the rainy season predators would be on the prowl again.


End file.
